At first, the trainer walked by and praised my work. “High aesthetics,” he commented. When he walked by again, he stopped for a much longer pause, bending over my art as I drew the lines meticulously with the pen. I was unbothered by his presence, too focused on making any mistakes. I was finally in my zone. I had found my calm. It wasn’t the fluid waters. It was the dark, bold lines created with the pen between my fingers.